


i want that red velvet (i want that sugar sweet)

by chalantness



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Romanogers Patriotic Smut Week, Romanogers Smut Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 01:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7384741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalantness/pseuds/chalantness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm here for your birthday, of course."</p>
            </blockquote>





	i want that red velvet (i want that sugar sweet)

**Author's Note:**

> "birthday smut" + "something romanogers that puts a spotlight on a more dominant steve? i always see nat in control, but everybody knows how great a leader steve is and how well nat takes orders"

She had considered already being at the hotel when he showed up, but sensing the presence of another person in his hotel room probably would have put him more on edge than anything else, and it's not as if she couldn't surprise him another way. Maria had told Steve that he was going to Paris for an assignment, and Natasha knew that it demanding him to leave the night before his birthday wouldn't be an issue at all. The city usually has this huge celebration for him on the Fourth of July, since he's, you know, _Captain America_ (and the humor of his actual birthdate being today of all days may never wear off, much to his chagrin). He appreciates the sentiment, of course, but she knows he'd rather stay in instead.

He will, too. Just not in their apartment.

Maria had just laughed when Natasha had asked her to make the arrangements. Captain America being out of the country on the Fourth of July for an assignment is not exactly an excuse that people can argue with, and Natasha knew that Steve would take the mission for this very reason. It was perfect, really.

She calls him from her room, which Maria booked to be on the same floor as his on the other end of the building. It'll definitely be a waste of a reservation, since she only needs it to keep her luggage and hide out in while she gives Steve time to get settled in his own room, but whatever. Natasha would have been fine with changing at the airport and killing time there, but it's not as if Maria is paying for either of the rooms (the woman always has a contact somewhere that owes her a favor, it seems) and Natasha would rather be comfortable.

Her phone is on speaker on the bathroom counter as she does her makeup. "What're you going to have for dinner tomorrow?" Steve asks.

"Whatever the special of the night is at the pizza place down the street," she replies, smiling at her reflection when he chuckles over the line.

"Last I remember, they're usually closed on the Fourth," he reminds. She hums, swiping on her lipstick – dark red and matte, which is his favorite of hers, even if he's never said as much. She could always tell, though. "There's that lasagna in the freezer you can heat up."

"Then I guess that's what I'll be eating." She feels a little bad about misleading him, except not really, because she knows he won't mind the surprise at all.

He asks if she's going to Tony's Fourth of July party tomorrow, to which she says that she probably won't, which she knows he doesn't find unusual. They go every year, because if they're going to have to make an appearance at a New York celebration on the Fourth, they'd rather it be at Tony's. They're more than familiar with the penthouse by now, and if they don't feel like making their way back home at the end of the night, Tony will let them crash in one of his spares. That's usually what ends up happening. She knows Steve would want her to at least be with their friends if he's not there, just so she's not alone, and it makes her smile. He always, always worries about her in these little ways and she kind of loves it.

"I'll be fine, Steve," she tells him. "It's not like I'm obligated to make an appearance without you there."

"Natasha," he says, sounding amused. "Not even to see everyone else?" She hums in disinterest and he laughs, leaving it at that. "I'll probably be home tomorrow."

 _Probably not,_ she thinks, lips quirking into a smirk. Just to mess with him, she replies, "Well, I can always take care of myself if I need to," in a low tone that she knows he'll catch onto.

He groans her name lowly over the line, and she can't quite tell if this is in protest of her getting herself off without him there or in arousal at the very image of her sprawled out over their bed with her hand between her legs and his name on her lips. Either way, she grins. She likes that she can turn him on just as easily over the phone as she can at home, and her heart flutters as she realizes that he might've touched himself tonight, too, now that she put the idea in his head. It's ridiculous that just the thought of this is already getting her hot.

Of course, neither of those images can compare to the real thing.

"I love you," he tells her as they're about to hang up, and her heart, every time, will skip in her chest at those words, no matter how often he says them.

"I love you, too," she replies, and she can practically hear him smiling as he wishes her goodnight. _God_ , she wants to see him already.

She debates over whether or not she wants to do anything to her hair, since he most definitely will be tangling it tonight regardless of how it looks, but she decides to quickly curl it since her natural waves got a little matted down during the flight. Steve has a thing for her hair when it's curled, anyway, because he'll always twirl the ends of it around his fingers.

Her lingerie is white and lacy with navy blue detailing, and she wears it under a sheer chemise in dark red that matches her lipstick (red, white, and blue; Steve will get a kick out of it). Her stockings are held in place by clasps and make her legs look amazing, even more so when she slips on the strappy, white stilettos that Maria helped her pick out at the outlets last week. The colors are definitely not something she would have chosen for herself, and she knows that Steve genuinely wouldn't have had a preference even if she'd asked, but still. It would've seemed wrong to not wear the colors that represent so many things that Steve loves about his country, that makes it worth it for him to keep picking up his shield each day.

She slips her coat on over and cinches the belt to keep it in place, then stands in front of the mirror to adjust her hair just so over her shoulders.

She slips the Do Not Disturb sign on the knob of her door when she leaves (in case she doesn't make it out of his bed in time to collect her things tomorrow morning) and feels her heart flutter almost nervously in her chest as she makes her way to his room, which is a little ridiculous, but she knows that her nerves are from the anticipation.

She raps her knuckles lightly on his door, knowing that he's probably just sketching in the sitting room. He was always sketching when they shared motel rooms on missions, before they'd gotten over themselves and finally got together. Now his hands are usually passing time in some other way when they're alone.

Her heart actually skips when she hears the sound of the door unlock, and then he's opening the door and his bright blue eyes are staring into hers.

She flutters her eyelashes a little, and there's fleeting second where he sort of just stares at her for a moment, recognizing her but not exactly _realizing_ that she's in front of him in this moment. It makes her want to laugh, but before she can, there's this tug of warmth in her chest as she watches the realization cross his expression, lips parting ever so slightly as he says, "Natasha," in this soft voice. She grins at this, at how breathless she's already made him, and then his lips tug into a smile as he breathes out a laugh. "What're you doing here?"

She _loves_ how happy he is to see her. "I'm here for your birthday, of course."

He laughs again, a little louder, a little brighter, and the sound makes her feel giddy. He reaches for her, drawing her close to him by her hips, and she winds her arms around his neck and tips her head up to kiss him. He hums in content, smiling a little wider as he parts their lips. "So, I'm guessing there isn't really a mission for me here tomorrow?"

"Oh, there is," she says, drawing herself away from him to walk into his room. He closes the door, clicking the lock shut again, and she turns on her heels to face him. "It's me."

He laughs. "Is it?" She nods, gnawing on her lower lip, and the amusement on his face quickly fades into a bit of smirk. "Sounds dangerous."

"You tell me," she says, and he swallows as she undoes the belt of her coat, letting him wait a moment before shrugging it off of her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. He makes this little sound from the back of his throat, eyelashes fluttering a little as he looks over her. His fingers twitch at his sides, already itching to touch her, and then she crosses the small distance between them and feels his body tense a little when she flattens her palm over his abs through the thin material of his shirt, trailing upward. "I hope you're up for it, Captain, because I'm all yours tonight, tomorrow, and the night after that," she says, curling her hand behind his neck and pressing herself to his chest. She grins a little. "God bless America."

His expression turns absolutely _sexy_ as he realizes what she's saying. They have the next few days all to themselves, which hasn't happened in a while, or _ever_ , most likely.

The thought alone is enough to get her blood thrumming. The way that Steve is smirking at her certainly helps.

He reaches forward, her skin tingling as he hooks his finger underneath one of the clasps of her stockings, giving it a little tug. She might have jumped at him then and there, and he knows this, too, but she doesn't, and his eyes darken even more as he's starting to understand exactly what she meant. "All mine, huh?" he asks, and she nods.

His to command, his to _enjoy_. Every part of her is his. (But that's nothing new.)

"All yours," she repeats. He hums softly, letting his eyes shift over her again, and she tries not to squirm under his stare. She knows that as much as he appreciates the outfit, he wants to get her out of it just as she does. When his eyes drift back up to hers, she lifts an eyebrow as if to ask, _well?_

"Kiss me," he orders, and she pulls his lips to hers to do exactly that. She expects it to be sweet at first, the way he always starts off – soft and slow and savoring, and she knew that if he could, he would spend hours just kissing her – but as soon as his lips are on hers, he's tipping her head back and kissing her _breathless_. The force of his lips is relentless, capturing her bottom lip between his and nipping, and she whimpers a little, which gives him the chance to part her lips and press her tongue against hers. She lets out this noise from the back of her throat, scrapes her fingernails lightly over his neck, and he flattens his palm over the small of her back and presses her flush against his chest, groaning and kissing her harder.

He kisses her like this, hard and relentless, until her lungs start to burn a little. Her skin tingles, and she feels herself growing wetter and wetter.

From _kissing_. She might've found the idea ridiculous before tonight, but she sure as hell can't now, not with how quickly it's affecting her.

He kisses her like this for a bit, brings his other hand up to tuck his fingers into her hair and drag them through the length, over and over again, each motion a gentle little tug to her scalp that makes her shiver against him. She never had a thing for someone playing with her hair before, but it always feels _so amazing_ when Steve does it.

Then he pulls his lips off of her all of sudden, sealing them over her throat, and her lips part to suck in a gasp, lungs burning for air. A few sucks over her pulse and she dissolves into a moan, and then he's stepping forward and she grips onto his biceps to steady herself as he walks them until the backs of her legs bump into the couch. He nudges at her hips, moving her to sit down, and her legs part when he slides himself between them, sinking onto his knees as he continues kissing the other side of her neck. She gasps at a particularly hard nip of his teeth, which makes him pause for a brief moment, just long enough to make sure she isn't actually in any pain – she _isn't_ , not even close – before licking over the spot he bit.

His lips slide down, peppering kisses along her collarbone, and then he dips his head and closes his lips around one of her nipples, sucking through the thin lace.

Her back arches, lips parting in soft, barely there moan.

He hums, the vibrations making her skin tingle, and then brings his hand up to cup her other breast, rolling his thumb over her other nipple. She squirms under his touch, which is slower now, _teasing_ , and her sex is growing hotter and wetter with every little nip and lick. He takes his time again, just as he had when they'd been kissing, except she's even more impatient and even more worked up, and it seems like forever before he finally switches breasts, rolling her wet nipple with his fingers as he swirls his tongue and sucks over her.

She moves her hands to cradle the back of his head, but he snatches her wrists, holding them away as he pulls his mouth off of her and meets her eyes.

The warmth in her stomach flutters at the heaviness of his gaze. She swallows a little, her throat growing dryer and dryer the more uneven her breaths get, and she doesn't break eye contact as he presses her hands flat against the couch cushions and pushes them further from her body. "Like this," he tells her, then leans up for a quick kiss. She nods.

She already knows what he's going to do next, and her body shivers in anticipation. He catches this and quirks his lip into a grin.

"I give myself to you," she breathes out, keeping his gaze as his hands are on her body again, sliding down her sides and ghosting over the ticklish spots on her ribs. She moans softly at the sensation, arches her back a little as she swallows. "I give myself to you, and _this_ "—his hand reaches the lace at her hips, digging his fingers a little—"is what you want to do?"

It's a question that she doesn't expect an answer to, because she already knows it, but still.

He breathes out a chuckle. " _This_ ," he starts, reaching between them to swipe over her folds through the damp lace, causing her hips to jump, "is my favorite part."

 _Lucky me_ , she almost says, except she knows that that's not necessarily true. Far from it, actually, because of course Steve Rogers is an absolute _tease_.

His favorite part isn't just her pleasure, but _him_ giving her that pleasure, and oh, does he love to take his time with it. It's delicious, torturous, and the fact that he knows exactly what she needs to make her come in seconds – especially being as wound as tightly as she is now – he'll take that skill and make her wait for it, hold her right on that edge and leave her there, working her down and back up until she's a shaking, trembling mess beneath him. Sometimes he'll give in right when she asks, sometimes he won't. It's absolutely frustrating.

She knows it isn't because he likes being in control, either. He may be the Captain, the one that calls the shots, but they are very much equals and they both know this.

His favorite part is _her_ – tasting her, unraveling her, reducing her into a puddle of nerves and whimpers the way only he is able to do – and he knows just how good he is at it, too.

"Pretty," he murmurs, tugging at the hem of her chemise. His eyes glance over her lingerie again, slowly, and then his lips tug into a smirk. "But I think it needs to come off."

 _Thank god_ , she thinks, already lifting her hands to do exactly that. She's wearing almost nothing right now, but there are still way too many clothes on her body right now considering how hot and wound up she is. She's barely gotten it over her head when he dips down and presses a wet kiss to the flat of her stomach, making her desire coil tighter and tighter.

"Steve," she says, breath sharp and short. She doesn't mean to sound demanding, but she can't really help it.

He chuckles softly and presses a hand against the inside of her thigh, pushing her legs a little further apart. Her heart skips in her chest, his breath hot between her legs. For a brief moment, she thinks that he's going to make her squirm for a little longer, but then he licks a broad stripe right over her folds through the damp lace and she almost slams her palms flat against the couch again, barely remembering that he'd told her to keep them there. She wants to run her fingers through his hair, to keep his mouth right there against her heat and keep him from drawing away, but she keeps them in place, digging her nails into the cushions as she arches her hips in rhythm with the way his tongue is lapping at her wetness.

It's almost embarrassing how close she already is, and she lets out a strangled little sound when he presses a light kiss to her clit and then draws away.

He taps his fingers over her hipbone and she lifts them up so that he can push her panties down her hips, tugging her stockings off with it, and she thinks that it's a good thing that she didn't think too hard about the lingerie in the first place. Steve appreciates the view, of course, but she knows that getting her _out_ of it is what he appreciates the most.

Then he presses his hand flat against one of her legs, hooks the other over his shoulder and flattens his tongue against her in another fluid motion, and she parts her lips in a moan as she tosses her head back, her curls spilling over the back of the couch. He groans against her, her body tingling, and she lets out a cry when his lips close around her bundle of nerves and he sucks over her gently. He licks at her folds, grazing a little deeper and deeper at her entrance, her heart thrumming in her chest as he drives her closer to that edge, and then—

He pulls his mouth off of her, and the sound she lets out is desperate and pathetic, nails scratching over the couch as he kisses the inside of her thigh.

She's already a blushing, gasping, whimpering mess, and she isn't all that surprised when she blinks her eyes open and sees Steve staring up at her, lips quirked up at the corner.

"Beautiful," he says, squeezing the hand that's still pressing against her thigh.

He doesn't give her a chance to try and collect her thoughts in a response, though, because then he's sinking two fingers into her without warning and licking another broad stripe up her center and her back arches off of the couch, rasping out his name. Her walls are already fluttering around him, her heart thrumming, _throbbing_ , as he curls and flattens his tongue against her most sensitive spot. Her thighs shake, leg twitching under his hold, and she thinks that he's going to keep his hand there to keep her pressed open, but he pulls his hand away instead and it's almost automatic how her legs wrap around his head as she rolls her hips against his tongue. She tips her head back, claws at the couch as she moans his name.

Her orgasm rushes through her veins and crashes over her, her body _shaking_ , and Steve groans as he keeps his mouth on her, keeps working his fingers in and out.

Her legs go limp around him as she comes down from her high, and he hooks his hands under her knees and gently pries her off, her body still trembling as he kisses his way back up her body until his lips are on hers, kissing her softly, sweetly. "You still with me?" he asks, and she knows he's not trying to be smug.

She swallows a little and nods, eyelashes fluttering as she meets his gaze.

He brings their lips back together, their kiss slow and tender as he reaches behind her and unclasps her bra, tucks his fingers under the straps and pushes it off of her shoulders. He drops it to the floor and then draws away just long enough to tug his shirt off over his head.

He kisses her again, licking at the seam of her lips and then making this low sound from the back of his throat as he presses his tongue against hers. She whimpers faintly, tasting herself with his kiss (it wouldn't be the first, but it makes her shiver all the same) and he hooks an arm around her waist and holds her close, lifting her up. Her legs circle around his hips with the motion, arms winding around his neck, pressing herself closer, and he sort of just stands there and holds her like this for a moment, as if he's distracted by their kiss.

She can feel him hard through his jeans, pressing against her still sensitive folds, and a warmth of anticipation pools low in her stomach.

" _Steve_ ," she whimpers, shifting her hips against him once, twice, knowing that he'll understand what she wants to do. He nips at her lower lip and she gasps a little, clutches at him tighter. "Steve, come on," she whispers. She's not quite begging, but it still sounds a little like it to her ears. She doesn't care, though. She wants him to feel good, too.

He grunts a little, nods and kisses her harder, walking them towards the bedroom.

She ends up in his lap, straddling his hips when he sits himself on the edge of the bed, and she finally, _finally_ , pushes her fingers through his hair, scratches her nails gently over his scalp like she knows he loves as she grinds down on him a little, right over where he's hard for her. His chest rumbles with a groan, hand flattening over the small of her back to press her even closer, his hard length pressing against her even more through his jeans, and it sends a rush of excitement and energy over her, cutting through her orgasm-hazed senses.

She kisses him harder, gently scrapes her nails down his chest, feeling his muscles flex under her touch as he groans into her mouth, and he sucks in a sharp breath when her fingers reach the buckle of his belt. She works it off easily, pops open the front of his jeans and tugs the zipper down as she slides off of his lap, and then taps his hipbone, and he lifts his hips so can push his pants and briefs down as she sinks to her knees. She circles her fingers around length, squeezing gently, and this low sort of growl rips from his throat at her touch.

He's almost throbbing against her hand already, sending a rush of arousal and affection through her, squeezing over her thrumming heart.

He gets so much pleasure from _her_ , from giving her pleasure, that now he's already wound up just as tightly as she had been. It should seem ridiculous, but it's not, not at all.

She knows exactly how he feels.

Her grip is firm and teasing as she strokes over him slowly, the muscles of his thigh tightening under her nails where her other hand is on his leg, and the groan he lets out sends a warmth of pleasure right between her legs. She _loves_ this, loves him. She loves how crazy she drives him, how much her touch can unravel him, can cloud those sharp senses of his until he's dizzy with pleasure, hands tugging through her hair as he practically growls for her to give him _more_ the way he does when he's with her and only her, uninhibited, _unafraid_.

Touching him until he unravels, until he's a puddle of nerves and whimpers, is her favorite part as much as it is his for this very reason.

She flexes her fingers, squeezes ever so slightly and strokes him a little faster and faster, drawing another groan as his fingers curl and uncurl over the edge of the bed. She leans in a little, licks a stripe along the contours of his abs before pressing a hot, wet kiss, feeling his chest heave as breaths grow harder and heavier. She glances up at him and feels a tingle of desire wash over her when she sees him: forehead creased, eyelashes fluttering, lips parted. Then he whimpers her name and that's all it takes for her last ounces of control to snap.

She dips her head down and closes her mouth over him, taking as much of him as she can, and he moans out her name, hips jumping up off of the bed as his fingers grip the edge of it tightly. " _Fuck_ , fuck," he mutters, making her desire coil tighter and tighter as she sucks gently.

His tears one of his hands off of the mattress and tucks his fingers into her hair, his grip just hard enough to feel amazing, and she moans around him at the sensation.

"Oh, _god_ ," he groans out. He sounds _wrecked_ already, and she pulls her hand off of him, digs her nails into his hips as she takes him in a little more, hair falling around her face with the dip of her head. His hips snap up in response, rolling into her mouth, and she moves in rhythm with him as his scrapes his fingers over her scalp, murmuring, "So good, Nat," over and over again, making her heart flutter in her chest. His groans taper off into whimpers as she sucks a little harder, his thrusts growing quicker and more uneven as she drives him closer and closer to the edge. He gives a strangled cry that sends such a strong surge of desire through her that it makes her whimper, and he mutters a curse at the sensation that causes.

He falls apart with another moan ripping from his throat, low and gravelly and absolutely _sexy_. She lets out this little mewl in response and he tugs a little harder at her hair, hips bucking up into her mouth harder and deeper, but she keeps working over him through his high, moving with him and taking all of him in as her nails scrape gently over his hips.

She pulls her mouth off of him with one last swirl over his tip, causing him to jerk, and then she licks her lips and looks up at him from under her eyelashes to meet his gaze.

He looks absolutely _hungry_ , even while still in the last tremors of his orgasm. Her heart thumps in her chest.

"Come here," he grunts out, practically growling at her, voice commanding and incredibly aroused. She barely has a chance to get her knees back onto the bed when she feels his length press against the inside of her slick thighs, already hard again and growing harder.

_Thank god for super serums._

Steve hooks an arm around her before she can register it, maneuvering her flat onto her back against the mattress as he presses himself above her, his body large and hot against hers, covering her from everything else. She loves how it feels to be beneath him, to be surrounded by him and feel every inch of him brushing against every inch of her. She _loves_ it.

She wraps her legs around him a little tighter, his length brushing against her wet folds and making them tingle, making all of her tingle.

"Enjoying your early birthday present so far?" she asks. Her voice is barely above a whisper, quiet and rasping, and she knows that it'll be sore tomorrow, amongst other things.

He breathes out a chuckle of his own, the warmth of it ghosting across her flushed cheeks. "Very much so," he answers, and then dips his head down for a kiss.

It's so easy to get lost in this, in _him_ , when every call in her body is already itching for his touch, and it actually takes her by surprise when he rolls his hips and presses against her entrance. She whimpers as he pushes in slowly, deliciously, rubbing against her already sensitive nerves and making her shake. They've done this so many times before, and she knows exactly how it feels for him to be inside her like this, but every first push still feels as incredible as if it was the _very_ first, still feels as amazing and overwhelming and _perfect_.

She gasps into their kiss when he pushes all the way in, and he groans, letting out a sharp, hot breath against her lips as he lets himself savor the feeling.

His first few strokes are just as slow, just as thorough, pulling all the way out before pushing all the way back in, and she arches off of the bed a little with every thrust. She thinks he's going to keep it like this for a while, let them both calm down a little more before building them up, but then he hooks a hand under the bend of her knee, presses her legs apart and angles his hips and thrusts in faster, deeper, and she practically tears her lips from his to let out this strangled cry. He presses his face into the curve of her neck and nips at her skin.

She doesn't realize how close she'd already been to the edge again until he snaps his hips, grazing her sweet spot and making her gasp.

She whimpers because it's too much, _too much_ , but he knows her, knows exactly how much she can take and, more importantly, how much she _wants_ , so he kisses along the column of her throat and keeps rolling his hips. Her bones feel like they're liquid, her muscles melting, her body _weightless_.

He establishes this rhythm – just slow enough to not send her over the edge in seconds, but just fast enough so that her desire is coiling tighter and tighter and the pleasure is washing over her harder and heavier – and kisses every inch of skin he can get his lips on. She wants his lips on hers, but she can barely catch her breath as it is, and she knows how much Steve loves to hear her fall apart, so she whimpers his name over and over again, her voice almost growing higher and sharper with every thrust. Then he lifts himself up a bit, braces a hand against the mattress somewhere by her head as the other comes between them, his thumb sliding over her clit as he angles his hips and sinks into her even _deeper_.

This cry rips from her throat, dissolving into breathy whimpers as she chants his name.

"Close, baby," he grunts out, pressing a kiss to her cheek. She lets out a little mewl and nods and he nuzzles his face into her neck. "Come on, Nat. Come with me."

He circles over her clit, thrusts right against that sweet spot of hers, and she does exactly that, nails digging down his back as she falls apart. Her walls flutter around him, her hips rolling up as she rides out her high, and then he's right there with her, letting out a strangled groan as he rocks against her thrusts.

He presses his face into her neck again when they're both coming down from their highs some time later, his breath hot and heavy against her skin, and his body is sort of heavy as it sags against hers, but it's actually not all that uncomfortable. She pushes her fingers through his hair and cradles the back of his head, closes her eyes and tries to catch her breath. It takes a long moment for that to happen for either of them, it seems, because they just lay like this for a while, but then he moves to lean up on his elbows again and she moans softly as that causes him to shift inside her, rubbing against her overly sensitive folds. Her body is still humming, _exhausted_ , but she knows that she just needs a moment to gather herself.

This night is _far_ from over.

"Best present ever," he murmurs, brushing a soft, sweet kiss to her lips, then drawing back to smile at her.

"Sex?" she asks with a soft laugh, lips quirking at the corners as she arches an eyebrow.

He grins a dimpled grin at her. " _You_." He brings a hand up, brushes her hair from her face and then tucks his fingers gently through her curls. "You and me, _together_ , and alone."

"Nice save," she teases, but her heart flutters at his words because – two days. Even after tonight, they still have _two whole days_ together. She had known that Steve would enjoy the time off and the time together, and that this was going to be a little bit of a present to herself, too, but it doesn't really hit her until now how incredible it actually is.

"I hear Paris is romantic," he says after a moment, his expression smoothing into an incredibly sexy smirk. "It's a shame we probably won't make it out of this room to find out."

She _giggles_ , slides her hands around his neck and draws him in for another kiss, whimpering against his lips as he gently rolls his hips and sends a rush of warmth through her veins.

What a damn shame, indeed.


End file.
